Chapter 13
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: Floor 2 - Lv.70 Solar Griffin (2)
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The forces led by the Great Shaman weren't all that large.
A couple of goblin assassins serving as scouts, and five heavily armored orc officers.
Whoever had poisoned the water source had succeeded more than halfway in their goal.
The outpost was suffering so many non-combat losses that it could barely fulfill its normal duties.
The ones the Great Shaman had so fearfully healed were just the tip of the iceberg.
Once he learned the type of poison, he let out a sigh.
"Disciple."
"Yes, Master."
"That thing those humans do, the tooth-brushing or whatever."
"Yes, speak it."
"Think you could teach those bastards how?"
The disciple's expression turned to one reserved for a senile orc.
The Great Shaman pressed his forehead and shook his head.
"Yeah, it was dumb of me to even ask."
They weren't the type to do it properly even if ordered.
"That said, they really went all out. Skilled ones, those."
By orc standards, the excavation site was utterly devastated.
There weren't many traces of actual combat.
Aside from one watchpost that was a bit more heavily damaged, the scene was mostly serene.
If not for all the orcs lying still as if merely asleep.
It was truly a wretched sight.
"They toyed with them. These weren't just any grunts I sent, right?"
"Yes, warriors worthy of vanguard glory."
"And hardly any signs of resistance. More slaughter than battle. God of war and savagery..."
The Disciple Orc looked up at his master's face.
The old orc's features were stained with grief.
Truly incomprehensible.
An orc's virtues were always loud and boisterous.
They waged wars and battles that way whenever possible. If not, it was deemed a horrific affair.
Such a scene, swept through by assassins rather than warriors, exemplified that.
To orcs and their god, it was a brutality too gruesome to witness with open eyes.
Had the site been completely smashed to bits, the Great Shaman would have laughed heartily and honored the dead.
A sensation utterly baffling to the Disciple Orc.
The walls inside the ruins were heavily damaged but still held plenty of records.
Mostly shady stuff they were trying to hide, but there was useful info too.
"The fairies in this labyrinth worship the God of Nature and Purity, it seems."
"Nature and purity... yeah, that fits."
"Fairies usually worship nature gods. The key is the suffix. Purity's not the most welcome one."
The gods in this game were part of the random elements, changing every time.
Even the same nature god varied wildly based on the suffix attached.
Purity generally meant conservative and exclusive tendencies.
For both followers and the god itself.
Races serving such gods got tricky in multiple ways.
Grove Fairies were one thing, but others needed watching.
"What about the Greenskins' god?"
"God of War."
"Figures, with faces like that—their hobbies and specialties scream fighting. Suffix?"
"We'll find out soon enough."
Though in truth, war god suffixes were limited to destruction, death, or savagery.
You could tell by the shamans' spell types.
"More importantly, we should worry about us."
The fairy village legends hinted at a ruins guardian—dungeon boss—with frequent mentions of raptors.
Plus sun and fire.
Expecting a fire-attribute griffin subspecies, countermeasures were prepped.
"But this one's huge."
"This statue comes alive and moves?"
The Hunter's puzzled voice rang out; he didn't seem too familiar with dungeons.
Obviously, guardians being living creatures needed food.
So they usually petrified into statues like this, waiting for intruders without starving.
"Shoulder height of ten meters easy, body length over twenty."
A monster so dubious it'd make you question physics.
"Strategy doesn't change, but extra caution's needed. This size means it's ancient—probably packs a breath attack."
"That dragon breath thing? Never seen it, so it doesn't feel real..."
"Any four-legged winged beast is basically dragonkin."
Skills exclusive to that race.
So-called unique skills.
If you drew a race card with it, you could use one.
Of course, exiles couldn't get griffin race cards.
Playable races with breath weapons? Just dragons.
And dragon cards were rarer than a 100-clear miracle. Basically nonexistent.
"Can't we smash it while it's still stone?"
The Girl fiddled with the iron club she'd mentioned earlier.
I told her to go for it.
Heavy Strike activated, a thunderous boom echoing.
A dull metallic clang, and the club bent.
Then it scattered into light.
Used but decent condition—durability shouldn't have run out yet. Weapon lifespan ended.
Material penalty.
Realistically, hitting flesh wears less than rock.
"Petrified guardians are magically stoned statues—way tougher than plain rock."
"Better to wake and kill it, then."
"There are exploits later, but not now."
Nothing beats experiencing it firsthand.
The Hunter took his pre-arranged position and signaled okay.
My turn to move.
Blink cooldown needed.
Boss raid starts.
Even by his own measure, the Hunter was inexperienced for his years.
His old job had inured him to blood.
But he wasn't the proactive exile type.
Days with the fairies had broadened his horizons somewhat.
Didn't help much with labyrinth mechanics, though.
High-year exiles? He'd heard rumors—mostly tall tales.
Some rang true.
The real veterans never boasted their tenure.
All things being equal, empty carts rattle loudest.
Folks start yapping once they think they know something.
His snap surrender on Floor 1 stemmed from a rumor too.
Another: true vets don't bully in early kingdoms.
To them, everyone's cute chicks—worth dragging along or ignoring.
It played out that way.
The Hunter pondered.
What years were this party duo?
Impossible to gauge.
How'd he know the guardian was a griffin?
Yet he lectured strategy like it was obvious, drilling it in.
The Girl showed zero fear facing house-sized horrors.
Her beaming smile was so pretty it evoked his long-gone daughter.
Not the fiery resolve of battle.
Just another page of routine.
Even burning battle spirit at mega-beasts wasn't normal.
Utter madness.
They were all crazy.
But maybe that's what labyrinths were for.
The Hunter felt outdated.
Sighing, he nocked the fairy's bow.
Strong bows are hard to draw. This one pulled smooth and easy.
Power rivaled a mechanical crossbow.
The final trial lay in a massive stone chamber.
Plenty of room for the griffin to maneuver its unreal bulk.
Corridors lined the walls, seemingly to match the beast's eye level.
Evoked a grand opera house at a glance.
Balconies stacked for humans screamed artificial.
Worn and collapsed in spots, but stairs kindly provided.
Ornamental reliefs from the trap-filled entrance amplified the grandeur.
Per the party leader, all remnants of ancient fairy magitech civilization.
Didn't match the village hamlet he'd known.
Fairies had their own decline, it seemed.
Whatever. Past life for him too.
Gone now.
The Hunter shelved stray thoughts, focusing aim.
His leader had blinked to the ceiling, roping a line and hanging.
Even seeing how, he couldn't fathom it.
Soon, cooldown done, the leader hurled a dagger behind the giant griffin statue.
Roguelikes teem with gimmicks newcomers call bullshit.
Prime example: boss starts.
Monitor-straddling majesty in boss rooms, statues of awe-inspiring monsters awaiting challengers.
Sets the vibe, and rookies assume: epic cutscene, boss roars dramatically, go.
No chance.
Touch the guarded item...
Kwa-gwang!
No flair—just instant claw swipe.
Hidden boss, Floor 2, level 50+ equivalent.
Game or real, that kills.
Talons man-sized; graze means fatal.
Hidden bosses demand no-hit clears, usually.
"Whoaaa?!"
Even forewarned, the Girl yelped in panic.
A corner of the antique ruins crumbled slightly.
She landed flashy back handsprings but looked clammy.
Then shouted.
"Feels stronger than the house ones!"
Her exorcism pets or whatever. Said no bullets stuck.
"Hey, this one takes bullets. Weaker than those."
The griffin coiled to charge.
Then roared.
Eagle torso meant classic eagle screech—pure lion's roar.
But its size turned it sonic weapon. Bone-rattling ultrasonics shook the chamber.
Even stoic Girl whimpered, cowed.
"Eek! Doesn't feel like it?!"
"Guess not!"
"C-Can't stall as long as planned!"
She gripped her dagger tighter—visible from afar.
Confidence swapped for caution.
Still, she'd never dodge that charge solo.
Amid roar, subtle whoosh. Thunk—the griffin snapped its beak shut.
Kwaaak!
Screech of agony replaced it.
Even giants hurt from eye arrows.
Size-wise, like a floor splinter in the foot.
Huh, foot-splinter sucks; eye? Chaos.
Chaos ensued.
Game terms: charge pattern canceled.
Critical [Sharp Shooting] to weak spot.
Game become real sucked, but not all downsides.
No more 0-1 pain-immune slaughterbots.
Even ogres yelped and tumbled from toe-stubs on logs.
Pain.
Absent in game, ripe for exploit.
Before griffin shook it off, heap more.
Dropped from ceiling rope like rappel.
Eagle talons can't pluck thorns. Monster smashed floor right under my rope.
Girl's job: solo ground aggro.
Her superhuman base stats let her barely evade and lure.
Coordinated boss dribble with Hunter's vitals hit induced stagger perfectly.
My turn to prolong.
Released rope, inverted fall into shooting stance.
Monster view plummeting upside-down: majestic.
Steel-like feathers, harder beak.
Insane defense.
Non-vitals barely dent now.
But hidden bosses aren't straight-fought. That'd make 'em regular.
Griffin head: eagle.
Eagles don't spotlight ears; hearing not primary.
But predators with keen hearing too.
Thus, weakness.
Counted inner beats. No fails. One shot.
Focus stretched time illusion.
Slo-mo: massive head loomed.
Expected. Released on cue.
Bird skulls can't headbang human-style.
Pain-locked trajectory.
Temple in crosshairs.
I blasted the raptor's ear with prime convo tool: shotgun.